


We'll Be Just Fine

by rosehathaway



Series: Linstead [7]
Category: Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluffy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Linstead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 16:09:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8898724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosehathaway/pseuds/rosehathaway
Summary: After the devastating events of 3x17, Erin tries to find a way to be there for Jay.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is also based on a prompt I got on tumblr. I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Leave me some comments and let me know what you think!

She’s leaning on the door frame, waiting.

Her body is trembling with helplessness. There are red half-circles from where her nails dug in her palms and there is a knot in her throat. Because she knows there is nothing to do but wait. She knows he’s alive, she’s gotten a text, and she’s listened to the scanner. He’s not the one that got hurt. But seeing him walk through the door with Al causes her to let out a breath she didn’t know she’s been holding.

He’s withdrawn and she cannot begin to know everything that’s going on inside his head. She comes to meet him halfway. Her arms reach out, knowing that Al won’t care about her small display of concern. Al promptly excuses himself, and Jay lets her hold him for a moment. She indulges herself with breathing in the familiar scent of him, pressing her face against him so she can feel his warmth.

“Erin, I’m okay.” He takes a step back, and it’s a step too far. It’s selfish of her, she knows, but she wishes she could hold on for just a while longer. When he asks about Terry, she shakes her head in response. No news yet.

She keeps her hand on his chest, where she can feel the hard beating of his heart, reminding her that this time, he got lucky. But despite of the fact he’s standing right there, he is sun miles away from her. She looks at him and wants to wipe off the blood off of his face, his jacket, because blood on him-even if not his-makes her blood run cold with sheer fear. But this isn’t about her. So she swallows her fear and lays a supportive hand on his back, walking him upstairs.

He’s walking towards Voight’s office and she pulls him back slightly. “Jay,” she murmurs quietly, so nobody but them hears. “Whatever you need.” He nods gratefully and goes to face the wolves. Her thoughts of the worst case scenario get interrupted by Mouse interrogating her, because Jay is not there anymore to answer his questions. She sighs and buries herself in work.

* * *

 

She walks towards him across the hallway. Her eyes dart briefly to his hand, the on that Brianna is currently holding. He hasn’t done anything wrong, but they both drop the hands when she comes.

She pretends it didn’t hurt to see him hold hands with another woman. He pretends he didn’t see the look on her face when she saw them. They’re both good at it.

 “Jay, we’ve got something of the gun.”

She watches him nod, and then tell Brianna that she should stay low for a while and she nods in agreement. Erin watches her walk away, the perfect curls bouncing around her. She can’t quite help it, but she reminds her of one of her old classmates. It must be the insecurities she brings out in her, the ones she thought had long been forgotten.

She sighs, and once more, decides to bury herself in work.

* * *

 

She’s next to him all day, making sure he actually doesn’t break something, or someone. He’s tense. He has a good reason of course, but she’s not used to him being like that: unsettled, and on the edge.

He manages to get through the questioning without breaking any bones. She decides to be grateful for the little things.

And it’s exactly the little things that get him through the day. It’s the fresh cup of coffee she pushes into his hands and he drinks in a volatile attempt to stop the cold spreading inside of him. It’s her hand touching his gently, before they walk back upstairs. It’s the look she gives to Voight when he’s giving him a hard time.

It’s her.

* * *

 

He’s getting ready for the funeral when she shows up. He’s about to ask what she’s doing there, but she’s wearing all black, and he understands.

He looks so different than she is used to in his military uniform, still handsome, but somehow less like the Jay she knows. He presses a light kiss on her temple, pulling her into an unexpected embrace before they leave together, reminding her, that even though he looks different, he is still her Jay.  

* * *

 

She loves him. Despite the fact that she has never been able to tell him, she does love him.

She feels his pain as if it were her own and her heart breaks for him over and over, when she watches him sit through another funeral. She’s glad he let her be there, to make at least that part of the process a little bit easier.

The memory of Nadia’s funeral invades her mind. Jay standing next to her the whole time, with Hank right on the other side. He slid his hand into hers during the ceremony, not caring if Voight noticed. She remembers leaning against him, letting him carry half of her weight, because she was uncappable of doing it herself. She remembers he stayed over that night, because she couldn’t bear to be alone, and he held her as she cried herself to sleep.

Now it’s time for her fingers to wrap around his, and she’s glad when he squeezes her hand gratefully in reply.

* * *

 

He’s getting a drink with Mouse, so she sneaks back to the precinct. Hank said that if she catches up on paperwork, he doesn’t mind her taking a day or two off work. She knows he’s worried about Jay. He doesn’t have to tell her. Years of living together are enough for her to know.

She heads for the stairs, but she thinks she hears a sound coming out of the locker room.

He’s on the floor, crying. She knows this pose. How many times had she curled herself against the wall after Nadia died? The pain radiates around him and for a second she doesn’t know what to do. She takes a step closer and his eyes shoot up to her, trying to cover the signs of crying.

She shakes her head in reply. “Don’t. I’m here. Not just for the pretty stuff.” She needs him to know that he doesn’t need to hide from her. He has seen her more vulnerable than anyone else and he stayed against all odds.

She falls down next to him on her knees, her arms going around him as his chest shakes with sobs.

“It’s not fair.”

She knows.

Her hands caressing his hair are tender, repetitive, calming. She doesn’t know how long they sit there, on the floor, and she doesn’t care. She would sit there two weeks straight if it made him feel better. She feels helpless, because there is nothing she can do, to take this pain away, or even lessen it.

“Let’s go home,” he murmurs after the heart-wrenching sobs subside, and even though he does not specify, she understands that home is wherever she is.

* * *

 

Sleep ends up being the best medicine.

He sleeps for the entire night and half of the day.

Erin blackmails Hank into two days off, despite that fact she wasn’t able to catch up on paperwork, so she revels in lying next to him, catching up on sleep too. It means she’s there when the bad dreams come. It means she’s there to make them go away.

She can’t do anything about his loss, even though she feels it in her heart. She can’t do anything about his pain, no matter how hard she wants to. But she can lay here, next to him, making sure he knows he doesn’t have to go through it alone.

* * *

 

He wakes to the feeling of pressure on his torso. Her body is snuggled against his, and her head is resting on his chest. At some point, he must have wrapped his arm around her, because that’s where it is, right where it belongs.

Her fingers are tracing light patterns onto his bare chest, and by the looks of it, she hasn’t realized he’s awake yet. He turns his head slowly, to look at her and she smiles.

“Did I wake you?”

“No. After that dream, I slept great,” he admits. “What are those patterns?”

“It’s nothing, really,” she pauses, but continues when he looks at her expectantly. “I wanted you to feel that you’re here with me, and not wherever your dream was taking you.”

“It worked,” he murmurs and pulls her closer. He nuzzles into her neck, enjoying the warmth and the intimacy of the gesture.

 “You’re going to be alright. We’ll be fine,” she murmurs with assurance in her voice.

“I know.” He presses a light kiss on her side.

There was a time where something like this would really throw him off balance. He can easily remember how lost he felt after he came home and the rest of his unit didn’t. His compass was broken then, and he had no north, no way to find home.

But he focuses on the feel of her soothing hands on his back, and he knows that despite loss, his life would go on. He doesn’t need a compass, because her heart will always guide him right where he needs to be.


End file.
